I'm back at CC for my sophomore year and feeling as blessed as ever to be somewhere I feel so called to. Life has been hectic since I last wrote, with a month-long class in Italy, three months of nannying in New Hampshire, and then a month of geology that kept me out in the field for most of my days last block! So much has happened and I really feel like God has been showing me a lot over the past several months.
A couple weeks ago I picked up a book called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. The premise of the book is that "if what we choose to do with out lives won't make a story meaningful, it won't make a life meaningful either." Miller makes the argument that the same elements that go into a compelling story also go into a compelling life. He demonstrates this idea beautifully by telling his own journey through this discovery and the ways it changed him.
Although my entire copy of A Million Miles is marked up and highlighted from all the great material I encountered within its pages, there are a few key statements that Miller made that I'd like to share, simply because they've stuck with me the most since I finished reading the book. The first is when Miller suggests that life is always "staggering," but that we have somehow grown accustomed to it. He writes,
"I've wondered, though, if one of the reasons
we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life
is because we don't want the responsibility
inherent in the acknowledgement. We don't
want to be characters in a story because
characters have to move and breathe and face
conflict with courage. And if life isn't remarkable,
then we don't have to do any of that; we can be
unwilling victims rather than grateful participants."
we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life
is because we don't want the responsibility
inherent in the acknowledgement. We don't
want to be characters in a story because
characters have to move and breathe and face
conflict with courage. And if life isn't remarkable,
then we don't have to do any of that; we can be
unwilling victims rather than grateful participants."
I read that paragraph and scribbled "profound" next to it. It's easy to read and apply it to someone else - "Yeah, that's totally true for so-and-so..." - but the more I have thought about it, the more I've seen it in myself. During some seasons, life is blindingly brilliant and overwhelmingly remarkable. In those times I feel fully alive... I'm moving and breathing and facing conflict with courage! But then I go through seasons of what Christians have callously dubbed "spiritual dryness." Life loses its luster and all of a sudden everything seems commonplace.
Though I am usually aware of this shift, I've seen myself time and time again choose to camp out in it. The feeling is hard to describe, and I almost want to use the word "numbing," but it's more of a sense of boredom than desensitization. In the middle of my fog I still know there's more to be had out there, but for some reason something in my nature urges me to play the part of unwilling victim.
Maybe its laziness. Maybe its pride. Maybe its cowardice...
Whatever it is, I find it disengaging me from what I'd call "true" or "abundant" life and allowing me to settle into something that requires far less responsibility or participation.
When I finally emerge from the fog, repent, and actively choose abundant life, I realize how foolish I have been. Jesus said he came that we "may have life, and have it to the full. (John 10:10b)" And in Galatians we are told that "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. (Galatians 5:1a)"
I know what it looks like to live fully and freely like that. In January of 2009 I joined the Burn Internship at my church, and was immediately thrown into a group of Christ followers who radically changed my understanding of what it means to follow Jesus. The students and leaders I was interacting with were "on fire" for their King - they prayed, served, and worshiped harder and with more genuine passion than I had ever encountered before. And yet, somehow, they were also some of the craziest, goofiest, most hilarious people I had ever spent time with. At the time, I didn't know how to reconcile this.
"If people could see these friends of mine and how real and full of life they are, their conceptions of Christians would be shattered," I remember thinking to myself.
I craved the life and joy and freedom they possessed. I soaked it up like a sponge, and quickly realized it had nothing to do with the people's personalities and everything to do with what Jesus had done/was daily doing in their lives.
The people I served with in Burn are only one example I've seen of life lived to the fullest like that. I've encountered so many individuals who are filled with an insatiable joy that is both appealing and contagious, and Donald Miller shares even more examples in his book. These people make ordinary life look extraordinary and I admire that so much!
Thinking about all this over the past few weeks, I've become really "jazzed" about the idea of intentionally telling a compelling story with my life. Over my block break I packed every possible moment full of laughter, memories, conversations, experiences and meaning. My facebook status to commemorate the amazing weekend and give thanks for the life God has given me, said:
"1st block break of sophomore year: Picked a new major/minor, hung out with Hannah Atencio, went camping/hiking with a ton of fun people in Elevenmile Canyon, practiced some rugby with Bryce Miller, went to Mill, spent the night and went to Cripple Creek with Morgan O'Tool, hung out with friends at Saige Fuller's house, went to church and out to lunch with Lexi Wortley, Noah Wortley and Mrs. Kathy, went to dinner downtown (and attempted to rescue 2 puppies) with Kaley Logan Wheless, went to Navs at David and Anna Rau's house, and hung out on the roof with my bro Will Tirado. Livin' the good life. :D
A weekend like that - despite it's being so full of activities and busyness - is remarkably refreshing. But it also requires sacrifice. Sometimes we sacrifice silly-but-tempting things like watching too many movies or messing around too long on facebook, sometimes we have to sacrifice good-and-valuable things like quiet or comfort, and other times the sacrifice is much more severe. Sacrifice often involves pain.
"Here's the truth about telling stories with your life,"
Miller explains. "It's going to sound like a great idea,
and you are going to get excited about it, and then
when it comes time to do the work, you're not going
to want to do it. It's like that with writing books, and
it's like that with life. People love to have lived a great
story, but few people like the work it takes to make
it happen. But joy costs pain."
Miller explains. "It's going to sound like a great idea,
and you are going to get excited about it, and then
when it comes time to do the work, you're not going
to want to do it. It's like that with writing books, and
it's like that with life. People love to have lived a great
story, but few people like the work it takes to make
it happen. But joy costs pain."
It will take pain and sacrifice to tell a story worth telling. But I think that it will all be worth it.
Which leads me to another part of Miller's book that really struck me. He talks about a time in his life when he was experiencing overwhelming heartache, and dissects his thoughts and emotions in a way that is refreshingly raw and real. After wallowing for a while in the pain, he came to an amazing conclusion. He writes,
"...I was a tree in the story about a forest... it was
arrogant of me to believe any differently... the story
of the forest is better than the story of the tree."
It's challenging to think about myself in these terms. And the more I think about it, the more I've realized how careful I need to be about how I pursue this "tell a compelling story with your life" idea. I think it is a worthwhile aspiration, but my generation - really the entire culture I live in - is plagued with a disease of self-absorption. Constant access to social media convinces us that our thoughts, feelings and experiences are supposed to be broadcasted for everyone to see, despite the fact that most of what we share is essentially meaningless. Without vigilant effort to remind myself that everyone isn't as fascinated by myself as I am, I quickly make my story about myself (the tree) and not Jesus (the forest).
It's not that my story isn't valuable, but if it's all I see or tell its missing the real glory of the bigger story! In the words of an old song I used to listen to by Steven Curtis Chapman, "I want my life to be a preview of coming attractions."
Which leads me to another part of Miller's book that really struck me. He talks about a time in his life when he was experiencing overwhelming heartache, and dissects his thoughts and emotions in a way that is refreshingly raw and real. After wallowing for a while in the pain, he came to an amazing conclusion. He writes,
"...I was a tree in the story about a forest... it was
arrogant of me to believe any differently... the story
of the forest is better than the story of the tree."
It's challenging to think about myself in these terms. And the more I think about it, the more I've realized how careful I need to be about how I pursue this "tell a compelling story with your life" idea. I think it is a worthwhile aspiration, but my generation - really the entire culture I live in - is plagued with a disease of self-absorption. Constant access to social media convinces us that our thoughts, feelings and experiences are supposed to be broadcasted for everyone to see, despite the fact that most of what we share is essentially meaningless. Without vigilant effort to remind myself that everyone isn't as fascinated by myself as I am, I quickly make my story about myself (the tree) and not Jesus (the forest).
It's not that my story isn't valuable, but if it's all I see or tell its missing the real glory of the bigger story! In the words of an old song I used to listen to by Steven Curtis Chapman, "I want my life to be a preview of coming attractions."
There's a good deal more I'm processing regarding all of this material, but I don't want the blog post to be too long. Hope it sparks some thought in you like it has in me.
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